Page 14 of Obsession

“Megan.” I pick up the ice pack and hand it to her again. “I’m not going to tell you to put this on your wrist again.”

Her eyes are like a doe caught in the headlight of a ten-wheeler as she says the only thing she can while she continues to process this new information about me.

“Fuckity, fuck, fuck.”

Chapter 6

But I’m A Bartender

MEGAN

My hands are shaking as I close my eyes, praying to whichever deity will listen to me to make this entire scene dissolve into just a terrible nightmare. But when I open my eyes, Mr. Middleton is still watching me. The corner of his lips quirked up.

“I can explain,” I say without thinking.

I wonder if there’s any way to weasel my way out of this. A few minutes ago, I called him a ruthless murderer. I even told him how many.

To his face.

Oh, dear God.

“Get me the first aid kit, Parker,” he says with a strange emotion dancing in his eyes as he looks at the man who had come looking for me at my college.

When the door closes behind Parker, Mr. Middleton asks, “Explain what?”

“Um,” I try to wriggle my hand away from his grip, even as the spasms of pain make me want to cry out. “I don’t know. My idiocy? Look, please don’t fire me or kill me.”

“I have no plans of doing either,” he claims as he presses the cold compress around the swelling in my wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“Then I’m not in trouble?” I ask cautiously.

He lifts his gaze to mine, and his icy steel gray eyes turn my mouth dry. Up close like this, I can see his evening shadow clinging along his defined jaw, offering a blend of danger and attractiveness to anyone who dares admire it.

“In trouble for what?” he asks, and I snap my mouth shut, refusing to offer him reasons on a silver platter.

When I don’t say anything, he gives me an amused glance. “So you do know when to stop talking? That’s good to know.”

My face burns in both mortification and insult.

Parker returns and walks inside, grinning at me, as he hands over the first aid kit to Mr. Middleton.

“Hurt yourself, did you?”

“Get out, Parker,” Mr. Middleton snaps.

Perhaps I expect everybody to regard this man with a certain amount of fear, which is why my jaw nearly drops when Parker doesn’t leave but instead makes a face and speaks again.

“Come on, I’m just trying to be nice. I just want to be her friend. She’s the nicest bartender in here.”

“Get out before I throw you out,” Mr. Middleton says, not even looking in his direction as he takes out a heavy-looking roll of gauze.

I stare in Parker’s direction, and he just winks at me, making a hand telephone, mouthing ‘Call me.’ I sneer at him as he walks out. However, I don’t escape unscathed because when I look back at my boss, he’s staring at me with an unreadable expression.

I don’t know where to look, so I look down at my hand, squinting my eyes in concentration. The look of irritation on his face and the gentleness of his touch doesn’t match. He wraps my wrist with great care and by the end of it, I can’t so much as bend it.

“I can’t work like this,” I say with great dismay, lifting my hand and studying his workmanship.

“You’re not going to work today,” he says, closing the small first aid box and heading over to his desk. He takes a seat in his oversized office chair, places his hands on the table, and watches me with little effect.

---